


What Is Isn't Exactly, Not Here Anyways

by nsynclancefan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger Management, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Hospital, Schizophrenia, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nsynclancefan/pseuds/nsynclancefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“My name is Dean Winchester, and I am a hunter of the supernatural.”</i>
  <br/>
  <i>“My name is Castiel, and I am an angel of the Lord.”</i>
</p><p>
“My name is Dean… and I want to kill myself.”<br/>
“My name is Cas… and I don’t know what is real.”
</p>
<p>
Based on <a href="http://nsynclancefan.tumblr.com/post/61904473310/mishasminions-the-one-where-dean-and-cas-are">this</a> Tumblr post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome Everybody

“Hi, my name is Dean.”

“Hello, Dean.” 

“My last suicide attempt was three weeks ago. That is when my brother admitted me here. I decided to stay.” 

“What made you decide to stay?” 

“I…” _I can’t disappoint him anymore._ “Because suicide is wrong, I guess.” 

“Do you want to live Dean?” 

_Not really._ “Why not.” 

~ 

“Hello. My name is Castiel.” 

“Hello Castiel.” 

“I am an angel of the Lord.” 

“Cas, we talked about this.” 

_But it is true._ “I… see things that aren’t there.” 

“What kind of things?” 

_Demons. Vampires. Shape shifters._ “Things.” 

“Okay. Do you see any right now?” 

_Your eyes are black. You’re a demon. I must destroy you._ “No.” 

“Are you sure?” 

_No._ “Yes.” 

“Why do you believe you are an angel?” 

_God choose me to be a vessel._ “Because.” 

“Castiel, you can trust me.” 

_No I can’t._

“Please Castiel, it is alright to talk to me. I do not judge.” 

_Yes you do. Three weeks and you have just stared back at me with those hollow, black eyes, full of judgment and hatred. You want me dead. You are going to kill me._

“Castiel?” 

“Be gone demon from this innocent woman!” 

“Castiel! Get off of me! SECURITY!” 

“Let me go. She is a demon! Can’t you see those eyes? Can’t you? LOOK! JUST LOOK! PLEASE LET ME SAFE HER!” 

“Sleep now Castiel, it is alright. There are no demons. We are all safe.” 

“Demons… must save…” 

“Sleep. Take him to his room.” 

“God… help…” 

~ 

Naomi sits in her office, slowing drinking her coffee and staring at the two files on her desk. One is for a suicidal young man with violent tendencies, and the other is for a schizophrenic. Three weeks these two have been her patients, two completely different conditions and symptoms, and yet, very much alike: similar backgrounds with complex responses to tragic life events. 

If she is to get through to these young men, she will need a new tactic. But first, she needs them to get along and work together before the therapy can begin. 

“This will be very… interesting. It should work. Well, I think.” She finishes her coffee and begins her morning paperwork. 

* 

Dean is sitting in his usual corner table in the cafeteria. He is able to observe all that who enters and leaves the cafeteria through the two exits. He is able to keep an eye on anyone who looks at him funny, who decides to walk near him, and who decides to sit by him. However, his glare is able to ward off that last scenario. He doesn’t need company, and he especially does not need a friend. 

_I actually don’t deserve anyone. Just keep the face up and hold the shitty plastic knife… wait, it’s a spork. What the hell am I supposed to do with a fucking spork? Screw this. The look is enough. They all know to stay away. I can take anyone in this room. Me and my spork are just fine in this corner. Peachy pie fine. Ooo, pie. I love pie. Do they have some today? I need some apple. Holy shit they do! Oh my god, is it fresh from the oven? Okay, time to change faces and try to get me an extra piece._

Dean treks across the room, adding a little strut and a sly smile as he approaches the woman behind the sneeze guard. _Time to work the Dean mojo._

~ 

Castiel walks down the hall to the cafeteria. He is still trying to shake off the drugs he has had in his system since that morning’s session. He didn’t immediately see black eyes, but one second she was his therapist, and all it took was one blink and she was gone, replaced by the spawn of Satan. He hasn’t always seen these things, of course not. He once was a normal human being, growing up with his brothers and sister and mom and dad. His life was perfect, or at least normal. 

So was college. Bachelor’s degree wasn’t hard to get. Masters, on the other hand, he never got around to. Sort of became sick about the time he was to go back to school. Some not-so-subtle hallucinations later, Castiel knew he was an angel, and after not-so-subtle demon exorcisms, he landed here. Now he gets drugged up every few days because he fights the “demons”, and he really isn’t sure what is real or fake anymore. Sometimes the black eyes stay for only a split moment in the eyes of someone he passes in the hall, or stay black for minutes on end as he watches them from across the room. 

He knows there aren’t actually demons, sometimes, because he has never been attacked when he notices them. Most days, he sees the eyes and his feels hypnotized, instantly obligated by an unknown force to attack and protect. It is God taking control. When he isn’t in this state, he blames God for his curse. All the time he is in utter confusion and oblivious to the unknown force that keeps driving him to try and stay alive. 

That force is getting smaller and smaller. 

He enters the cafeteria and nearly runs into his therapist, Naomi. She simply smiles at him while he stubbles over an apology. 

“Castiel, it is fine. At least I didn’t have coffee with me.” She smiles and it warms Castiel to his core. The black eyes that were there that morning are not there now. 

_Either I vanished the demon, or it wasn’t there in the first place._ “Thanks, um, doctor.” 

“Call me Naomi, please. This place goes way past formalities.” 

Castiel nods and begins to walk away from her, but she lays a hand on his shoulder and whispers into his ear. 

“There is an open table over in the corner if you are interested. I know you enjoy your privacy.” 

“Um…” Castiel could have sworn he saw a man there when he walked in, but he isn’t there anymore. He simply nods his head and walks to the table. 

Naomi smiles to herself and leaves the cafeteria, taking a quick glance over at the man swooning his way for extra pie. 

_This had better work. I seriously do not want to be held responsible for when Dean gets his ass kicked by Castiel._

~ 

Dean heads back to his table, an extra large piece of apple pie with extra whipped topping in his hands. He smiles proudly as others observe him and his prize. Some lick their lips, some roll their eyes, and others look ready to be sick. 

_Poop to them. I’ve have my pie, and I’m happy._

The happiness doesn’t last long, for when he reaches his table and sits down, he immediately begins a staring contest with a guy in a trench coat. He looks startled and scared, and Dean is simply surprised, with a hint of arousal when he comes in contact with those bright blue eyes. 

They don’t speak for quite some time. The whipped topping is deflating and the pie is going cold by the time one of them speaks. Actually, they both speak at the same time. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know that this was your table. I can leave right now. By the way, you have black eyes. Are you a demon? Should I try to exorcise you?” “This is my table and I don’t like people taking it from me. I was just getting pie, so if you could leave that would be great. You are also hot stuff and maybe you could stay just so I could eat you up with my eyes while I eat this pie.” 

They stare at each other again. They heard what the other said. Neither knows how to respond. The whipped topping has melted and the pie is cold when Dean speaks up. 

“My eyes are black?” 

“Yes.” 

“I am sure my eyes are hazel.” 

“No, they are definitely black.” 

“Sure.” 

“In fact, everyone in here has black eyes.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“I should exorcise the demon from you, but I have this strange feeling that you are not a demon and that if I touch you, I will get a black eye and have to sleep again.” 

“What gives you the impression that I will give you a black eye?” 

“The ways in which you are clenching the table and your fork suggests you want to harm me.” 

Dean looks down at his hands. He releases the table and winces when he drops his fork onto the table. His hands now have an imprint of the fork handle and the table edge. 

“Why aren’t you harming me?” 

“Why aren’t you exorcising me?” 

“Because you aren’t harming me.” 

“Well, you’re not exorcising me… yet, anyways.” 

Castiel stares into the black orbs in the man’s face and tilts his head to the side. He attempts to calm his mind to vanquish the black holes that have replaced the man’s apparently hazel eyes, but it does not work. The man just stares back with a hint of humor lingering on his lips. 

“What do you find funny?” 

“Your head tilt. My little brother did that as a baby. You remind me of Sammy.” 

“Well, I have never met this Sammy-person, so I have no idea what you would find in similarities, especially since we have just met ourselves.” 

“Yes, well… um, I kind of want to eat my pie now.” 

“And I want to try to find your hazel eyes again.” 

“Uh-huh. Well… if you let me eat my pie, without you touching me by the way, you can stare at me, um, all you want.” 

“Deal.” 

“Awesome.” 

They stare at each other again for a good long while, until Dean finally stops eating the man in the trench coat up with his eyes and begins to eat his pie. It’s cold and soggy, but apple pie nonetheless that Dean can enjoy. He finishes the pie in five minutes flat, and sets his fork down on the table with ease. He returns his gaze to the other man, and finds a toothy grin lacing his face and crinkling his eyes. 

Dean smirks. “Are the black eyes gone?” 

“Indeed. Your eyes are a wonderful shade of green.” 

Dean coughs and struggles to hold back the redness in his cheeks. “Well, your eyes are a, uh, wonderful shade of, um, you know, blue.” 

“Thank you. I have never received such a compliment before.” 

“Ditto.” 

They watch each other with smiles gracing their faces, until a school bell like sound rings in their ears, signaling lunch is over and it is time to attend therapy circles. 

“It appears it is time for us to attend therapy.” 

“Oh goody.” 

“You do not like your circle?” 

“Not really. Too many crazies.” 

“Well, this is a mental institution. By definition, everyone here has some form of a mental problem.” 

“Are you calling me crazy?” 

“Why are you here then, if you are not crazy?” 

“Why are you here?” 

“I think you know the answer to that already.” 

“Well, until you spill the beans on why you are seeing people with black eyes, I ain’t saying squat about me to you,” Dean bites back, standing up abruptly, sending his chair backwards and onto its side. People look over to their table, and a few orderlies eye him cautiously. He takes a deep breath and picks the chair up, gently pushing it into the table, struggling to keep his cool. 

“That is fair, I guess.” Castiel stands up from the table, gently pushing his chair back into the table. “Can I at least know your name?” 

Dean watches the man’s face. His eyes reflect curiosity, while his lips stay in a straight line of resolve, as if he is trying to hold something back. Dean sighs harshly, grumbling under his breath about Sammy’s bitch face and how universal it seems to be. 

“The name’s Dean.” 

“Hello Dean. My name is Castiel.” He holds his hand across the table. Dean is reluctant as he grips Castiel’s hand, but relaxes immediately at the touch of smooth skin against his roughness. 

“Castiel, huh? I think Cas is a bit easier to remember.” 

“If you find it more convenient, then you may call me that.” Castiel slips his hand from Dean’s and turns around, walking to the nearest exit. Dean watches him go and releases a breath he did not know he was holding once he disappears. 

“Ah, fuck.”


	2. Let Us Get To The Sad Part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tis short, but something for you readers to see that I have not forgotten this story. I am so very close to getting my AA and then I have summer to chill before WSU. I am not dead, I promise.

Dean’s life started to go to hell when his mom decided to die in a fire. Something short circuited in his baby brother’s bedroom and set it a blaze. His dad and mom rushed to get their children out; Mom went to Sam, Dad went to Dean. When Mom didn’t come out of the house after Dean and Dad, Dad rushed back in, leaving poor little 5-year-old Dean in the front yard watching as half of his house was in flames.

Dad made it out with Sam, but the fire fighters wouldn’t let dad back in to get Mom.

Mom was already dead. Smoke inhalation, followed by burnt-to-a-crisp.

Life only became worse from that point forth. Dean wondered what his life would have been like if his mom was still alive. He knows it would be 250% better, but sadly living in an “if only” world doesn’t change reality.

If only his mom was still breathing, they would still be in his hometown in Kansas. Dean would have had a continued education in one school district, along with Sam. They might have had more brothers and sisters added to the family as the years went on. Maybe Dean would have had a normal teenage life of sneaking out, stealing Dad’s car, getting grounded, and having a girlfriend brought home for his parents to swoon over. He would have even receive a proper education and brought home a diploma to prove it.

In reality, Dean, Sam, and their dad bounced from town to town as dear old Dad drank himself broke. Dean struggled in school, since his role in life was to take care of Dad when he stumbled back to the motel or hotel or car or family friend’s home they were staying at, as well as make sure Sam had everything he needed. When Dean was old enough, he quit school and got a job at a mechanic’s shop, right around the same time their dad disappeared from their lives, with their only mode of transportation. He was able to put food on the table for Sam, pay for school trips, sports, medical costs when he decided to break his arm, and living expenses. Sam was too young to understand that working as a mechanic at the age of 16 for minimum wage was not nearly enough income for them to live off of. So, in secret, Dean had a second job that helped make Sam’s life a little bit more normal. All it cost Dean was his soul.

Thankfully Sam didn’t waste his life dreaming of “if only” like his brother. He worked hard in school, received straight A’s in all his subjects, and graduated at the top of his class with a full-ride scholarship to Stanford. Dean couldn’t have been more proud of his baby brother and admits to crying when he sent him on his way to his new life in California.

Once Dean was all on his own, with no one to look out for or to have look out for him, he let his life go off the deep end. He started to drink himself, just to cope with his two jobs, and cut himself off from the world. He didn’t have contact with anyone until his brother came home for Christmas vacation and found his brother not at the airport waiting for him, but his dad. When they arrived at Dean’s place, their dad began to try to take control of their lives once more after being absent for almost 10 years.

Let’s just say Dean had his big blow out with his father, which landed Sam back in California a week later with his family - only his father was in a coma and his brother was locked in a mental institution after he tried to take his own life.

If only Mom was still alive, Dean would be with a bachelor’s degree in some subject, with a good paying job and a fiancée waiting for him at home every night. Dad would be happy with Mom, raising their other children and rejoicing at their elder son’s success.

Dean is stuck in a big therapy session with other nut cases, like him, while he tries to talk out his feelings about his screwed up life.

Now it is his turn to tell everyone what landed him here in the first place, since he has been unwilling to say anything for the past three weeks. His therapist promised him a visit from family and pie if he opened up about his life previous to the hospital.

If he gets to see Sam and have a slice of pie, Dean thinks he can muster up the courage to talk about that fateful week.


	3. You Are A Little Messed Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long since an update. Hope this makes up for the wait!

Castiel has a unique taste in music. If it were obnoxious screaming heavy metal, he wouldn’t be allowed to play it in his room. He has to keep it down low enough so he can hear it adequately and his neighbors don’t (which is hard because the walls are thin and he doesn’t have the best hearing.) No one complains about his music outside of his roommate, who despises his choice in tunes. He tries to use his “Jedi mind tricks” to slam the record player against the wall. Of course that never works, so he has to use his legs to walk himself over and turn it off.

“If you keep turning off my music, I will have to exorcise you.” 

“I’d love to see you try, cupcake.” 

Castiel hopes the demon possessing his roommate would snap his neck while he slept. Maybe it has already – all it would take is for Castiel to work his angel-mojo and the roommate would hit the floor like a bag of bricks. Since no one else sees the supernatural, he would be convicted of murder, and then he will be stuck in this joint until his body rots. Angels don’t rot, but whatever angel inside him would probably choose another host since Castiel failed. Either way, he is stuck sending glares across the room to his rabid sugar-eating roommate. 

“Do you know what they plan to serve for dessert tonight?” 

Castiel shakes his head, walking to his record player and turning his Don McLean back on. He sits back on his bed with his head leaning against the wall, feet crossed in front of him. He shuts his eyes, taking himself to his peaceful place. _Bye, bye Miss American Pi-_

“Gabriel!” Castiel opens his eyes and finds two middle fingers shaking his way, the owner sucking on a lollipop and smirking. One blink and the golden sparkle in his eyes are replaced with black. “I hate your demon.” 

“Dude, this pure awesomeness in front of you is all me! No one else is in this body. Besides, no demon or whatever can handle all of this.” He gestures to his figure, which isn’t perfect, but isn’t repulsive either. He is a short person, but not much shorter than Castiel. He doesn’t have a six-pack, but he doesn’t have a beer gut. His arms reflect some muscle definition, but only when he flexes. Gabriel flicks his golden locks behind his ear and blows a kiss toward Castiel, who falls to his bed to avoid the contact. Another bird is waved. “Suck it, angel boy.” He throws his body onto his bed and picks up a questionable magazine, flipping through it with his golden eyes once more. 

Castiel gives up on the music and leaves the room, seeking solace in the outdoors that he has regained access to. After an unfortunate incident involving a stick and two other patients, he was confined inside for two weeks. The fresh air does his senses good, ridding him of the sterile congestion that plagues the hospital halls. A gust of wind blows his hair back and flips his trench coat open like the wings on a flying squirrel. He wraps himself up before striding across the compound to his favorite tree. He passes the craft area, currently occupied with mask making, and glides beyond the pool, which is sealed off due to the weather. 

When he reaches his tree, he slowly lowers himself to the ground and snuggles his back against the firm oak, tucking his head into a little dent made by a previous patient armed with a football helmet. His eyes close and he is swept off to his peaceful place that is made up of God’s creations on a warm spring day. He always walks the same path when he enters this world. He passes the same animals and plants that he find favorable in reality, pausing every so often to feed his sense of touch and smell. 

Today, he finds an intruder in his world. Castiel almost opens his eyes to flee in fear, but stops himself when he recognizes the person. The short, dark, strawberry blonde hair, accompanied by peridot eyes that glisten in the afternoon sun, are a warming sight to behold, especially when the man is unclothed and bathing in a pond. 

_I am feeling something very odd in my pants._

The man dips underwater for a few seconds, sending little ripples across the pond surface. He bursts out with great force, sending water out of the pond and scattering animals that were hiding in the tall grass. Castiel makes eye contact with the tan, muscular man as he slowly strides out of the water. As the water level lowers on his body, Castiel can’t stop his eyes from trailing down the glistening chest to the light treasure trail above his submerged endowment. The man stops moving just before he reveals himself. Castiel lets out an audible whimper, eyes never leaving the gorgeous man’s nether region. 

He hears the man speak in his rough, tenor voice. “Am I pleasing you?” he growls, smile audible. Castiel can only release a guttural moan. He takes a quick glance at the growing bulge in his pants, arching an eyebrow at the significant expansion. 

_I did not know I could get so… engorged._

A splash returns Castiel’s gaze to the man, who is suddenly right in front of him. He is so close that the water dripping from his body lands on Castiel’s bare feet and dot his trench coat. Castiel gasps and then holds his breath, staring deep into a crystal abyss hidden under the man’s eyes. He is afraid to break the eye contact, completely engulfed by the intense spiritual and mental freedom he finds there. 

The man blinks. 

The black hole appears. 

Castiel opens his eyes in an instinctive flight response, letting out a short scream as he launches his body forward. He tries to make sense of what had occurred in his mind, his groin still physically responsive, when something hard hits him in the side of the head. He is sent to the ground in pain, a Frisbee landing in front of his face. He tries to sit up and instantly goes back to the ground unconscious. 

“Son of a bitch!” 

~ 

Dean had been distracted by the dark-haired man in a trench coat while playing Frisbee with a fellow anger-management group buddy, Benny. Benny could tell he was distracted, but continued to throw it back and forth with him. It was a terrible mistake because Dean barley caught the Frisbee, and then threw it towards Benny, but since his line of sight was directed a bit to Benny’s left, that is where object went. 

It hit Castiel and he tumbled to the ground. Dean winces as the man tries to get back up. When he goes back to the ground, Dean swears and quickly spirits over to the tree. Benny stays in his spot, watching Dean in amusement before walking off to have a cigarette. 

“Cas? Hey, Cas!” Dean kneels next to his head and pats his cheek in attempt to wake him up. He sees a tiny amount of blood oozing out from his hair. “God damn it! Cas, wake up buddy!” 

After a few harder slaps, Castiel lets out a groan and slowly opens his eyes. What he first sees is a crotch. He groans again, and then gasps when he discovers whose crotch it is. He regrettably sits up quickly, and then falls forward into Dean’s arms. 

Dean says in a panic, “I am so sorry man! I was not paying attention.” _Well, I was pay attention to you, but not the damn game._ “Just don’t move quite yet, okay?” 

Castiel grunts and his hands scramble around Dean for some leverage, feeling his stomach twist and turn as the world spins around him. His left hand grabs onto Dean’s arm, which is wrapped around his back, and his right falls dangerously high up on his thigh, making Dean gasp and blush, feeling a twitch in his crotch. 

Dick, this is not the time to get hard! 

Castiel goes pale and clammy. “I’m think… I’m gonna…” He moves his head past Dean in time to empty his lunch into the grass. Dean holds his breath and looks away from spectacle, rubbing Castiel’s back with a look of disgust. When he is finished, his face drops firmly into Dean’s lap, driving a squeal from Dean and a second twitch in his dick. 

“Uh, Cas man, you are, holy shit, you are, like, on my, um, son of a bitch!” Dean gives up on trying to restrain his second brain, focusing on helping Castiel feel better. He rubs his back with one hand while running his fingers through his hair with the other. He inspects the wound as well – it is a small cut, and head wounds tend to bleed as if it were a slit artery, so Dean doesn’t worry. 

Castiel opens his eyes when the world stops moving, slowly licking his lips clean of bile and spitting the remnants of his lunch into the grass between Dean’s legs. He presses his forehead against Dean’s lower abdomen and takes a few deep breaths, moving his right hand to below his face. 

Dean squeaks when his cock is taken into a firm hold. _Screw hiding the boner now!_ It takes Castiel a few seconds to realize where his face and hand are. He goes from pale to red within seconds, but doesn’t move, afraid of triggering another dizzy spell. 

“It appears my hand is gripping your groin in a rather tight manner,” Castiel states rather calm, voice muffled by Dean’s body. 

Dean tries not to breath. “Yeah, you are.” 

“You also appear to be enjoying it.” 

Dean holds back a moan. “It would be great if you let go, maybe?” 

“I’m afraid that any slight movement on my part will cause me to vomit again.” 

Dean sees the logic in that, his second brain agreeing fully and triggering a greater response. His first brain screams at his second brain to cut it out, but his second brain isn’t taking any calls at the moment, so please leave a message after the groan. 

“I am very sorry,” Dean whispers, currently squeezing his sphincter muscles to hold his orgasm at bay. 

“What are you sorry for?” 

“Well, I hit you with a Frisbee, and now I have an immense boner from your chosen sickly position.” 

“I accept the apology for the Frisbee, but you should not be apologizing for a natural biological response.” 

“In normal circumstances, I would not have an erection from a guy who just threw up next to me having his hand and face in my groin. A natural biological response is for my penis to shrink back into my body to avoid the death grip.” 

“Dean, it is physically impossible for the penis to shrink back into the body.” 

“Sarcasm, Cas!” Dean lets out a low groan, bending his body over Castiel. His left arm slides under Castiel’s trench coat, while his right hand moves to grip Castiel’s free hand. “Cas, I’m about to come, and I do not want that to happen.” 

“Why?” 

Dean snorts. “There are so many reasons why.” 

“Do you not find me attractive Dean?” 

_Fucking hell, Cas, I think I gave you a concussion._ “Yes, Cas, I find you bloody gorgeous, but you have a head wound and upset stomach, and we are being observed by several nut cases at the moment.” 

“I read somewhere that public sexual acts increase pleasure.” 

“Cas, either get off me, or I am going to give your head another gash in it.” 

Castiel moves his hand, but not off the groin. He squeezes Dean’s cock through his pants and slides his hand up and down. Dean’s hips buck up into his hand, and after a few more moments of the most intense hand job Dean has ever received, he is coming into his pants, biting Castiel’s lower back through his clothes to silence his cries of pleasure. 

“You said to get you off,” Castiel mumbles when Dean stops biting him. 

“I said to get off, NOT get me off.” 

“It is of no matter now, for I have relieved you of your erection in a quick manner.” 

Dean groans. _You are the freakiest freak I have ever met! I want to fucking kiss you and punch you right now._ He chooses neither, instead sliding his arm out from under Castiel’s coat and moving his hand under his stomach. _I am so glad Benny took off._ He finds what he is expecting to find – Castiel’s full erection pressing against his pants. 

“Dean?” 

“What?” 

“You do not have to reciprocate.” 

“I will do whatever I feel like doing!” 

Dean takes a firm hold of Castiel’s erection and makes quick work to bring forth his orgasm. Castiel holds in his scream when he comes after a few strokes, his entire body trembling from the force of it. When he is sated, and sure his dizziness and nausea are long gone, he moves to sit up. Dean pulls away from his back and removes all holds he has on his body. 

When they are eye level with each other, Castiel finds a black abyss waiting for him. His entire body freezes, the nausea returning. Dean sees the sudden change in him, remembering their previous meeting – Castiel sees black demon eyes, and thinks he is an angel. _Well, I just made an angel of the Lord orgasm in front of a bunch of crazies, after getting an amazing hand job from thus said angel._

“I think I am going to be sick again,” Castiel whispers, his shoulders trembling. 

“You are not going to puke, Cas. You are going to do exactly what you did the last time we met and find my normal eyes again.” 

“I know now why you behaved the way you did, and you made me behave in such wicked ways.” 

“I was trying to get you to stop!” 

“I am going to exorcise you, Dean.” 

“You are doing no such-” He is cut off when Castiel’s hand firmly presses against his forehead. His gaze is fixed on Dean, the blue of his eyes getting slightly lighter. 

_I am not dealing with your bullshit, Cas!_ Dean grabs Castiel’s arm and yanks it away from his fore head, twisting it enough to elicit a gasp. Dean yanks Castiel closer to him, and when he is practically in his lap, he firmly kisses him, pushing his tongue against his lips. Castiel gasps at the foreign contact. Dean’s tongue gains entry into his mouth and makes quick work of finding Castiel’s tongue, beginning a duel with Dean in control. It ends with Castiel fully engaged in the kiss, slipping his own tongue into Dean’s mouth where it is gratefully sucked on. Both men let out groans and wrap their arms around each other. Dean falls onto his back, pulling Castiel with him without breaking their intense lip-lock. 

Castiel is the one to break the kiss so he can regain his breath. Dean, who knows how to properly direct all breathing to the nose during kissing, moves his lips to Castiel’s neck, sucking a mark below his ear. 

“I have never kissed a human before,” Castiel says between gasps. 

“I’ve never kissed an angel before,” Dean says between sucks. 

“Your eyes have returned to their engaging green again.” 

“Told ya you could do it.” 

Dean moves his lips back to Castiel’s, and he responds with equal fervor and passion. Dean’s hands move under coat and shirt; he runs his hands up the soft skin of Castiel’s back, tracing the bumps in his spine with his fingers on the way back down. Castiel arches back into his hands, moaning around Dean’s lips. Castiel moves his hands up Dean’s chest and rubs his nipples until they are firm peaks, and then pinches them. Dean gasps and digs his fingers into Castiel’s firm ass. 

Raindrops begin to sprinkle down on them, but it doesn’t deter their heated passion. When the rain intensifies, sending everyone who is still outside back indoors, Dean rolls over to pin Castiel in the grass. He sits up on his arms and stares down at the wet, disoriented mess of a virgin beneath him. 

“I think I kind of like you Cas, even if you are a bit crazy.” Castiel smiles and it sends a rush of heat to Dean’s face. _You are too hot for my own good, mister._

“I find myself rather fond of you, despite your clear anger issues and repressed sexual emotions.” 

Dean is tempted to take back his comment, but decides against it. He knows it would only be a lie, and Castiel has a point. If he responded with a snarky comment, it would only confirm the obvious fact. Instead, he leans down and softly kisses Castiel’s wet and cold nose, making sure to flick his tongue upwards before pulling back. 

Castiel’s smile widens. _This angry man is just a front. I hope I can bring out the real Dean, and keep back the demon._ “We should go inside. It is rather cold with all this water falling on us.” 

Dean chuckles and gets off of Castiel, reaching a hand down to help him up. Castiel stumbles a bit when he gets to his feet, so Dean puts an arm around his shoulder. He looks at the cut on Castiel’s head, finding the blood being washed away by the rain and the cut clotted close. 

“Your head stopped bleeding.” 

“I didn’t know it was bleeding.” 

“It was just a bit. You’ll be fine.” 

The two men walk back to the building, Dean’s arm wrapped around Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel lifts up his hand and laces his fingers with the hand dangling in front of his chest. Dean doesn’t lace back, but he doesn’t pull away either. 

~ 

Naomi is watching the two of them from her office window, sipping her tea. She caught their make out session, slightly surprised by how engaged they were with each other. She had a feeling a romantic attachment would form between Dean and Castiel, but she expected a longer gustation period. While the hospital doesn’t like romantic relationships formed among patients, fearing a break up would lead to relapses, they don’t formally ban them. Sometimes a romantic partner is needed to help with the recovery process. 

One concern Naomi has is their rushing into sexual activity before getting to know each other. It can lead to trouble when Castiel finds out about Dean’s violent past, and vice versa. Her second concern is that Castiel’s condition is much more severe than Dean’s. She is unsure how long Castiel will require hospitalization, but it will undoubtedly much longer for him. This will be a problem when the time comes for Dean to be released; if she does not help the two of them properly build a relationship before then, it will end in tragedy and probable relapsing. 

“I wonder if I can put chastity belts on them.”


End file.
